


She sees all

by Madworld



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madworld/pseuds/Madworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Natasha notices.   
It's all she's ever really known.   
Seeing the fine cracks like hearing whispers underwater.   
Avengers  
Tall tower, five residents.   
Four male; one female.   
She sees Tony first. Can't help it, the little things just swim towards her. Demanding her attention.   
Deep dark eyes with long lashes. Delicate skin underneath irises, tinged purple with stress and no sleep.   
Painfully awkward with shy eyes at times when there is only one in the room. Someone he respects.  
Brash voice, silent on the third of every month.   
Hides when the autumn rain murmurs brief poetry against the steep glass windows.   
Circle of light. Pale blue and unwavering. Deft fingers tap hundreds of patterns.   
Reassures himself it's still there.   
Tousled hair inky to match stark beard in photos. But really in pale morning light, when the early hours have arrived, turning darkness into blue dust she sees warm tones of honey and mahogany.   
Same hair that, when slicked back and wet after showers, dries in subtle curls at the base of a tanned neck.   
Falls asleep in fits and bursts.   
Found on the sofa, at the table. In the lab. Sprawling.   
Teases Bruce, poking and laughing together. Tells him to strut.   
Hides his own under several layers of clothing. The light is never dimmed and it gets to him.   
Disappears in the lab to forget, drown the blue in harsh white light of machines and computer screens.   
Walks about in sweatpants. Barefoot. Until he catches sight of others and pulls a tshirt over hot skin.  
Protecting the hole in his chest he jokes. Only it's so much more than an empty hole.   
Drinks black coffee. Cold. Lost in science with Bruce.   
Late morning breakfasts with everyone, doesn't eat much.   
Doesn't stand next to Steve often. Or Coulson when he visits   
Never long enough to draw attention to the fact he's actually quite short.   
On bad days, after arguments with Steve, he'll be found sitting in the Hotrod.   
Sudden loud noises make him edgier than most.   
She sees when they watch Clint try out the armoury.   
Steels his backbone, blinks rapidly. Clenches his jaw and glares straight ahead, the light in his dark eyes dead.   
Waits  
Still can't take it.   
Flinches.  
She sees memories flicker across those deep eyes like a film.   
He leaves.   
Shouts over his shoulder that it's boring.   
Surprisingly steady voice. Only three hitches she can hear and she has to listen hard.   
It's the same with shouting.   
Especially in foreign tongues.   
Tries to let it wash over his ears but cringes.   
She sees him want to hide.  
Pretends he has no interest.   
Something he's skilled at.   
This one makes her saddest.   
She knows he's talented at languages.   
Early mornings, four hours past midnight.   
In the kitchen at half light peering in the fridge. Yellow light painting him an unhealthy colour.   
A colour already achieved from lack of sleep.   
She watches from the kitchen table.   
Sees them.   
Faint, dead whispers on skin.   
Silver scars etched on his left forearm.   
Feels her see.  
Slides his arm back from it's perch on the fridge door as he leans in. Presses it against icy shelves instead.   
Quiet. Like a panther, uncoils herself from her seat and sidles up beside him.   
Lets the light pour over her own.   
Criss-cross like a wire fence. Silver on her right wrist.   
"You're not alone Stark"


	2. When you open your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst a spider spins her web.

Tony knows he's a hot mess. 

So obvious. To Natasha. 

Wishes he could hide it.

Grows to like it. 

Natasha sees past Ironman. 

Past Tony Stark. 

She sees Tony and after a while Tony  
starts to see Natasha. 

Never noticed little things before. Lost in  
theories and building and ignoring the deadness inside of him that comes round  
every month or so. 

It's a science, he learns, noticing.

She's subtle. 

Quiet. 

Clever. 

She's the first one he notices the little things with.

Normally people are too complicated.

She makes things simple. 

Says what she means. 

Eyes perceive in people what he perceives in technology.

Soft lips pout when cooking. 

Chaste kiss for the arc reactor every night and every morning. 

Affectionate peck on lips follow. 

A whisper in Russian when sleep is behind her eyes. 

Ask her favourite colour, it changes like the shades of a window. 

Blue most common answer. 

Giggles when kisses pepper tawny roots at her temple. 

She hides the fiery dye in most jumbled corner of his lab. 

He keeps the secret like a sworn treaty. 

Conversations in giggly, jabbered Russian after red wine at dusk. 

Life shines from her eyes because he can keep up. 

Needs reading glasses. 

Round frames. 

Once.

He sees her dance.

Ballet.

Beautiful except for the memories he sees in her tears.

She cries and he holds her. 

Always has cold hands. 

Hums Led Zeppelin. 

Shrugs on a soft leather jacket. 

Goes nowhere near the foul scent of vodka.

Grimaces. 

Memories full of vodka swilling Russian generals with dirty white hair. 

Warm bourbon tickles her tipsy however.

Deadly fingers always gentle in his hair when a few inches are warming her blood. 

Silent 70% of their time together.

In the closest way. 

Pads about in fluffy socks. 

Punches thrown in a faded black tank top. 

Drinks coffee milky.

Hates to let it go cold. 

Yogurt for breakfast. 

Shares with Bruce. 

Comes back from missions sore but tense and jumpy on adrenaline. 

Shoulder rubs melt muscles like iron. 

Longer missions.

No contact. 

Comes back weathered.

Tanned with the sweltering life of hot countries. 

Stays up when he's due back from press conferences in other states. 

Sees her watching the stars when he steps out the metal mouth of the escalator. 

Four am wanders down to the lab. 

Stands in dark corner behind the glass door and watches him lost in screens and technology. 

Stays for an hour then returns to bed the nightmare chased away. 

He pretends not to notice when she does this. 

Still, on empty dead days when the knife from her SHIELD uniform in the wardrobe won't leave her thoughts, she collects it. 

He recognises the feeling of self control when clenched fist like a bullet around the blade lets go. 

Drops it in the bin. 

Triumphant.

She'll collect a new one from SHIELD and say fresh start with a smile. 

She burns to keep a knife longer than a month.

Keep the criss cross on her wrist dead.

No new blood. 

No life for the pain. 

And he does the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I might make this a series of chapters. Natasha subtly analysing the whole team. And somebody noticing Natasha.


End file.
